


Wooing advice from a man kissed by fire

by JnjlenSkinjbir



Series: The Wooing of a Southron Lady [2]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: (nothing the series hasn't showed already though), F/M, Sandor's POV, Sequel for "The Wooing of a Southron Lady", Warning: Sandor's colorful language, onesided Tormund/Brienne, possible spoilers for GOT S7
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-21
Updated: 2019-05-21
Packaged: 2020-03-09 05:06:49
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,013
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18910159
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JnjlenSkinjbir/pseuds/JnjlenSkinjbir
Summary: (set between 7x06 and 7x07)Sandor tries to deal with the aftermath of the expedition beyond the wall at Eastwatch, until Tormund asks him for wooing advice (and actually takes them very seriously).





	Wooing advice from a man kissed by fire

**Author's Note:**

> Heyyy! I'm back again with a sequel (almost a year after). To be honest, most of this story was written in September, but university and my part-time job got in the way. What prompted me to finish this OS was 1) the fact it was almost finished and I really wanted to finish it, 2) my finals being over for this year (going back to uni in october!) and 3) most of all, the massive disappointment that was Season 8 (the ideas weren't bad per se, but the execution... D & D made some choices).  
> Anyway, here's the second-part of my previous OS "The Wooing of a Southron lady". Enjoy! :D

     Sandor had been wrong when he expected the wildling to let him be when they got back to Eastwatch by the Sea.

     He was drinking the strongest stuff he’d found in this goddamn garrison, which happened to be fermented goat milk. The taste was awful, but at least it burned when he swallowed, and that was all he needed after the hectic days he had spent north of the wall. Living dead people, ice magic and fucking dragons. Bloody Hells. If someone told him one day those things were real, he would have laughed at their face and punch some good sense into them. He was minding his own business, had slipped away with the drink and made sure no one had seen him sneak out.

     That was until the mad, redhaired wildling with that stupid shit-eating grin jumped from behind a corner, making Sandor almost drop the wineskin.

 

«Har! Knew I’d find ya there!»

 

    Not even waiting for a permission of Sandor who was still under shock, he sat in front of him, grabbed the wineskin and drank too.

 

«Bugger off, wildling!» he growled, when he took back the wineskin. «If you wanna drink, get your own drink.»

«So ya like our stuff, huh?»

«No, I hate it! It tastes like shit and piss at the same time.»

 

     The bastard was still grinning and Sandor fought the irrepressible urge to punch him in the face. Maybe he’d closed his mouth after some teeth’d be knocked out.

 

« What in the seven hells are you doing here, wildling ? Can’t you just find someone else to bugger ? »

« Nah, yer precisely the person I searched. »

« What for ? To get your arse kicked ? »

« No. »

 

     His expression had suddenly turned serious. Sandor became wary and only hoped the mad man didn’t want to fuck him. Or to be fucked by him. He drank a sip of the drink, bracing himself for any weird idea the wildling might have in mind.

 

«I  want ya to help me woo the yellow-haired woman. »

 

     This was so unexpected Sandor’s drink  came out from his nose, leaving him coughing and spitting the rest of his drink.

 

« Are you fucking serious ? »

« About her ? Always. »

« I think you don’t know this woman as well as you think. If you try to woo her, you’ll probably end in scraps of meat to feed the dogs of the kennels of Winterfell ! »

 

     The red-haired man grinned even more than before, his eyes even having a dreamy glow. _The fuck…_  ? He didn’t seem to grasp the whole situation, so Sandor, feeling altruistic, added :

 

« I heard she beat into a bloody pulp the last two men that asked for her hand ! And she bit off a part of my fuckin’ ear when we fought ! »

 

     To his greater surprise, his interlocutor seemed even more smitten with the tall wench.

 

« Aye, I long to spar against her! You Southrons truly don’t realize the chance you have to fight against this absolute goddess... »

« What in the seven hells is wrong with your head ?! » asked Sandor, though he knew he wouldn’t get an answer.

« Are ya gonna help me woo her, yea or nae? »

« I’m the last person in the Seven kingdom you would ask about wooing a lady. »

« Why ? »

«  _Why ?!_ ”

 

     This question made him mad, whereas the arrival of the wildling had only made him slightly irritated.

 

“Look at _this_!” he bellowed, showing the ruined side of his face. “Do you really think I have any chance of wooing a lady with this ? »

« Aye. Those are proof of yer sourage and battles you’ve fought and got out alive!” Sandor repressed a snicker and rolled his eyes. If only the wildling knew about the truth; not much courage was involved. “If ya were one of us ya could woo any spearwife. »

« Are you fucking kidding me ? »

« No. But I gotta say ye Southron are really weird in the choice of your mates. »

« We’re not weird, there’s noblety, fuckin’ political alliance and buggering mind-melding strategy plays... I don’t even know why I’m wasting my time with you... »

« Well, it’s not as if I can ask somebody else about that. »

« You should’ve asked pretty boy Snow while he was still conscious. »

 

    Tormund grimaced.

 

« Well I thought about it. But Snow isn’t really wooer-material. Because of the oath he took to join the Watch. He only got laid because Ygritte kinda stole him, and he’s probably oblivious to the way the Dragon Queen looks at him. »

« Someone stole Snow ? »

« Yeah, it’s a thing of us.”

« Fuck, if by _‘wooing’_ the tall wench you mean _‘stealing’_ her, she is gonna cut out your cock and your balls and pins them on her shield ! »

« There would be no greater honor than being her sigil. »

« You’re insane. »

« Maybe”, admitted the wildling with a huge grin. “So how do ya woo a Southron woman ? »

« Can’t you just ask Beric Dondarrion ? »

« Nah, he kinda creeps me out talking about his red god.”

 

     That had to be the first time the red haired fucker said something sensible and that made a lot of sense. Finally, someone else was seeing that Dondarrion’s head was totally fucked up.

 

“I prefer my own Gods. Besides, yer the only one here who knows her.»

« Already told you, I don’t know much about wooing Southrons. Never had interest of doing so. Fucking whores in brothels was enough. »

 

     Because of his face, he resolved long ago to not live, despite being a Kingsguard, with a wife, a castle and some land, since no woman could bear to look at his face without wincing and he had no intent to marry a woman who couldn’t bear the sight of him. And yet, recently, there was a small part of him, hoping for a miracle or whatever fuckery, thinking a lot about what-could’ve-beens if he had the opportunity to wed a particular woman, live with her in a castle, rule together or letting her rule their lands, and maybe, why not, some children. He tried to silence this delusional part of him, to tell himself the only reason he allowed himself to have such thoughts was because he was getting soft with age; with no success however. This infuriated him to no end. Why did his mind decided to make him suffer about something that’d never happen, as if he hasn’t suffered enough already?

 

« But surely, ya must know something. Ya’ve been near their king before things started to turn sour. Ya gotta have learned something there. »

« The kings I’ve seen on the throne were even worse than me when it comes to wooing», grumbled Sandor, reminiscent of Robert’s unnumerable whores and the unspeakable things Joffrey did to several women. Even he had been more respectful with the whores that those two.

 « You could give her flowers, I guess», he added, hoping the wildling would be happy and he’d go somewhere else to get said flowers.

« And where am I supposed to find’em ? » 

« I got no buggering clue ! You’re the one who’s always used to snow ! You should know !  The other thing I know that made ladies swoon was those non-sense pretty songs with knights. A bunch of bullshit the highborn ladies are fed. It has nothing to do with the real world. »

« What are those songs about ? »

« The buggering hells I have a bloody idea about the content of those songs ! It’s not even worth wiping an ass with it ! Besides, I’m pretty sure your brute of a woman doesn’t believe in it anymore. »

« Why wouldn’t she ? »

« Because she’s considered ugly by our standards, whereas the songs are always about pretty women and pretty knights. »

« But she is pretty ! »

« To you, yes. But she must have seen her lot of deception. »

« Then I will write a song about her and I will sing to her. »

« I fucking give up in understanding you, wildling. Do whatever the fuck you want. But don’t say I didn’t warn you.»

«How do I know what to put in this song?»

«None of my business. I am not the goddamn little bird, got it? I don’t sing pretty songs in court or hymn to the Gods or touch anything that looks more or less like an instrument! The only music I make is with my sword when I rip through bodies ! And you’re gonna be the next if you keep on bugging me!»

«Who’s this little bird? Is it the woman ya want to woo? Does she has red hair? Is she the reason why ya hate people with red hair?»

 

     Feeling the beginning of a headache that had nothing to do with the shitty alcohol, but with his efforts to try to understand the crazy thoughts of the bat-fucking-crazy wildling in front of him, Sandor exhaled and pinched the bridge of his nose.

 

«She’s a Southron, right ? Surely, there mustn’t be much more redheads South of the wall. Do I know her ?»

« There’s a whole family with only redhead south of Winterfell, if you need to know, but that’s besides the point. I doubt you know any woman south of the Wall, since you scare them with that mad man smile of yours»

« Oh, I know of the family ! Snow explained to me it was the family of the lady who wed his father. »

 

     Tormund then shut up for the first time since he’d showed up and fuck, not hearing his loud mouth seemed just like heaven. Alas it didn’t last long.

 

«Do you like the Sansa lass?»

 

   The fact Tormund knew the little bird by her first name felt like a bucket of icy water dropping on him. That meant the little bird was still alive, and she was somewhere in the North (he couldn’t imagine the red had going souther than Winterfell). Tormund said nothing about her location, but his shit-eating smile showed how proud he was of guessing something right and he went on:

 

«She likes too much to play those ridiculously complex games ya Southron fancy. She doesn’t seem bad at it, but I got the feeling that this Littleprick or whatever he’s called is trying to turn her thoughts upside down.»

«Littlefinger is in the fucking North?»

«Aye, he’s at Winterfell. Don’t like the guy. Looks at the Sansa lass all the time with leering eyes. Snow told me she was kept hidden by him in the Veil or wherever and he married her off to the horrible Bolton bastard. When we took back Winterfell from him, she made his own dogs eat him. That was when I began to appreciate the lass. Truth be told she’s pretty. But my yellow-haired, tall woman is even more beautiful. »

 

      _Of course_ , Littlefucker would be alive and in the North. Cockroaches didn’t die easily after all. He already suspected that he was responsible for half the mess happening in the Realm right now, the eunuch being responsible for the other half. At least the eunuch wasn’t looking at the lass a very creepy back in King’s Landing. And if Tormund found Littlefuckers’ way of lookig at sansa creepy, then it was certainly very creepy.

 

«So, what do I put in my song ? » the ginger interrupted his thoughts.

«Why in the seven hells would I help you? »

«Come on ! I will help ya woo the Sansa lass in exchange ! »

«I’m not interested in her!

“Sure, tell that to yerself if it can make ya feel better.”

“If you can’t even woo your brute of a wench, I don’t think you can give me any advice. »

«Maybe I can persuade her t... »

«No, you won’t! If you go near Sansa, I’ll be the one that’ll cut off your ... »

“Stop making empty threats.”

“FINE!” At this point Sandor was ready to spit whatever bullshit just to not be bothered again and to stop seeing this ridiculous grin-smile-smug-creepy thing of the wildling. “You should compliment her, her appearance, her qualities, skills, anything!”

«Should I add my anecdote of fucking a she-bear?»

«You fucked a buggering she-bear?»

«Aye! I even cut open a giant’s female’s stomach and spent winter in it, then she nursed me for three months …»

«If you tell me anymore about those ‘stories’ I’ll drink in your skull.»

«But do I add it?»

«Not unless you want her to beat you bloody with your own cock.”

“And? What else should I do? I have to write but what about the music?”

“Just play some of your retarded instruments” _That should provide an interesting twist._

“Oh great idea! This way, I’ll make her discover our culture!”

 

    Truth be told, Sandor didn’t give much thought in his answers and just try to make the wildling fuck off elsewhere or bug someone else. He wasn’t even serious, but this time the red-haired fucker went off for good. At least, he had left the wineskin, and Sandor, suddenly tired from this conversation, went to bed.

 

*****

     He woke up with a jump, like a fish out of the water because he heard a sound that was anything but human. A horrible screeching sound.

     In the corridors, everything else seemed silent...unusual since the fort had been recently filled with wildlings. Maybe they were just sleeping. Maybe they didn’t care, because it was the remaining wildlings from beyond the wall coming. Or maybe it was like a nordic animal or some phenomenon they were familiar with and presented no danger.

    Except… it could also be the scouts of the army of dead who managed to get past the wall and had already began their assault. Or killing one of the two remaining dragons. Which Sandor didn’t mind at all, since this fire-breathing monstrosities could die any time they wanted, but if they did, they would lose against the dead fuckers.

    Grumbling a string of profanities, Sandor put his boots on and went outside, his sword unsheathed. Beric also appeared in the next door, flaming his sword. Sandor repressed a shiver.

 

“Did you hear that?”

“Aye. You know what it is?”

“I have a few ideas, but none of them are good. You?” Sandor shook his head. “Go ahead.”

 

     He followed him across the corridor and across a corner, someone suddenly appeared, wielding a war hammer and Sandor thought he’d seen the blue eyes of the ghost of young Robert Baratheon. He had no idea how they managed to bring back someone dead and buried so far down South, but there was no time to question the magical abilities of those things when they were already invading the garrison! He lifted his sword, ready to attack.

 

“No stop, it’s me Gendry!”

 

     Sandor was surprised because those things weren’t able to talk and because the voice was very different from Robert’s. The tension leaving his body, he slashed in the wall, near Gendry’s head.

 

“Seven hells boy! Next time announce yourself!” he barked.

“Uh...” Sandor could see the bastard was trying to sass him, so he gave them his most frightening glance. “Aye sure.”

“So, if we’re three being up, I think it’s for the best we separate.”

“No fucking way. We should stay together.”

“Okay, so here’s what we’ll do. We’ll try to find the source of this horrible noise and on our way, we check on the dragons.”

 

     Gendry shook his head.

 

“Done. They’re making their normal dragon noises.”

“So now, you’re a smith-maester well-versed in dragons, huh?”

“Do you think it could be some horn?” asked Beric.

“Dunno, doesn’t sound like a horn to me.”

 

     They ran through the corridors, following the sound from where it came. Sometimes it stopped for a moment, before resuming. Finally, the trio arrived in front of a door which seemed to be the source of the noise. They braced themselves and after a look from Beric to Sandor, the latter pushed the door out of its hinges and stumbled on Tormund, standing next to the strangest object Sandor had seen in a while.

 

“Fuck! I should’ve known it was _you_ behind this! You mad, irresponsible fucker! Do you have any fucking idea of how worked up you got us? Why in the seven hells are you being obnoxious in the middle of the night, for no fucking reason?”

 

     It was a very strange object indeed. It was approximately five foot and consisted in a big wooden staff, topped with an animal’s skull, its jaws loosely attached. It rested on a small wood staff, to which were attached what looked like four bells and a purse filled with small objects of various nature. Under it there were two bronze plates and its end a mix of a tambourine and a sounding wood block, because the thing had… three other strings?

    And the mad fucker was playing with the weirdest staff Sandor had ever seen. It looked like a recurved bow, one of its side dented.

 

“I was just practicing my song for the giant woman! Speaking of which, let me show ya what I’ve came up this far.”

 

     Tormund cleared his throat, repositioned himself next to the object and as he make some growls and high-pitched sound, while the strings made a horrible screeching noise.

 

“Are you fucking kidding me? You call that noise music? Sounds more like a whole host of swords raping a slate! No wonder those dead fuckers try to get past the wall if you play you bloody noise that often!!!!”

“Ya think she won’t like it?”

“Listen well, mad fucker. I am not her fucking handmaiden let alone a goddamn handmaiden! I don’t care. Just be you, she may be naive, but she can smell through bullshit too. Do whatever he fuck you want, cause we’ll are going to die anyway.”

“Aaaah, don’t worry ‘bout that!” The ginger put a hand on his shoulder and Sandor slapped it away with a growl. “Ya’ll see the lass before ya die too! And since ya helped me, I’ll honor my word and help ya with her.”

 

    _Just fucking great_. Before he was worrying about fire, huge fire-breathing flying fuckers and tons of undead cunts. But now, he had to worry about Tormund potentially embarrassing himself and Sandor in front of her. 

 

**Author's Note:**

> I don't really remember who gave me the idea of serenading (I think I got inspired while reading another Tormund/Brienne fanfic, but I can't remember which), but I thought it could be interesting in the long run?  
> Also, I really thought that after Tormund and Sandor "bonded" over Brienne in 7x06, it seemed logical for Tormund to seek some advice from Sandor.  
> Speaking of music, I don't know how Free Folk make music (I don't think it's mentioned in the books, but I haven't re-read them in a while), so I got two sources of inspiration:  
> -the singing: from the Vikings. Some historians believe that songs of Vikings/icelandic folk were meant to be shouted, and not sung, kinda like metal, which pleased my metalhead self (also, if you want to have an idea, just check the amazing band Heilung). So I imagined Free Folk growling and screaming when they sing, which of course Southrons wouldn't get because they're used to their "softer" kind of music. Since Tormund is known for being very loud, his singing can be heard from afar in the quiet fort.  
> -the instrument: just look up "devil's staff instrument" and you'll see how it looks, because I sucked at describing it adequately XD.


End file.
